


The Many Adventures of You

by TheMusicalHermit



Series: Tumblr Transfers [3]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Additional Warnings in Index, F/M, Female Reader, M/M, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Other, Request Fill, gender neutral reader, male reader - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-31
Updated: 2018-06-01
Packaged: 2019-03-27 09:26:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13877979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMusicalHermit/pseuds/TheMusicalHermit
Summary: A collection of reader-insert requests from my Tumblr page.





	1. Index

**Author's Note:**

> Requests are currently closed on my Tumblr, but do not let the limited range of characters here lead you to believe I will not/cannot write for others. Feel free to request here as well, as I know not everyone is on Tumblr.

Chapter 1 - Index  
Chapter 2 - GN!Reader x Junkrat; “Dear Old Dad” (SFW)  
Chapter 3 - GN!Reader x Roadhog; "Quilting Class" (SFW)  
Chapter 4 - F!Reader x Junkrat; "We're Expecting!" (SFW):: _Warnings: pregnancy, childbirth, mentions of fertility issues_  
Chapter 5 - F!Reader x Jesse McCree; "Are you jealous?" (NSFW)  
Chapter 6 - M!Reader x Junkrat; "Be a Good Boy" (NSFW):: _Warnings: non-con, stalking, use of loved ones against you, yandere!Junkrat_


	2. Reader x Junkrat; “Dear Old Dad” (SFW)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Request: Junkrat finds out the reader has a daddy kink (either by calling him 'daddy' by accident or him jokingly referring to himself as daddy and the reader gets all flustered) and teases them relentlessly about it? Maybe the teasing gets out of hand and certain things happen?? Extra points for Junkrat getting super into it himself.
> 
> A/N: I couldn't find a way of making him into that kink while keeping him in character.

You and the Junkers had just finished a successful heist in when Junkrat suddenly demanded a vacation. You had been an easy sell; you had already wanted to spend some down time with your boyfriend. And it was summertime in Australia. You wanted to enjoy the warmth before your inevitable flight to colder temperatures.

Roadhog was a tougher sell, wanting to get out of Australia before the police narrowed down where you were (and then having a break, preferably somewhere without sand). Junkrat was adamant about enjoying the home straits one last time, however. Thus he attempted and failed to convince his other partner that even murderous thieves and bandits deserved a bit of down time on their own turf, now and again. 

Then you suggested that Roadhog could go on a deep sea fishing trip. Perhaps along the way he could find a boat he liked and a crew that was chummy. Have some fun, makes some waves. 

His dark chuckle clearly said that he caught onto your real suggestion, and you were grateful for that. 

Which is how you all ended up in a small resort town a few kilometres away from Darwin. 

Roadhog had peeled off towards the docks as soon as you had found a safe hideout for the motorcycle. Junkrat had wasted equally little time in stripping down to a pair of tattered swim trunks, pulling out patched flotation devices and a single dusty flip flop from the bike’s under seat storage. 

Junkrat shamelessly changed in front of you, leaving you to appreciate the way his bony ass wriggled about. You even got a chance to fully appreciate the stark tan lines from where his harness and belts usually rested. You had, of course, run your tongue along them often enough to know them as well as the back of your hand, but it was still a rare thing to see them all at this distance. You gladly took advantage of the opportunity.

Releasing a carefree laugh, he donned a visor and stashed his usual effects into storage before draping the entire vehicle beneath a free tarp. Finally, with a flick of his wrist that looked practised, he snapped open a pair of sunglasses and slid them up his nose to complete his look. 

“Oh man, babe, you’ve got no idea how much I’ve been wanting ta go to the beach. Catch some z’s ‘neath a brolly, build some sand castles, destroy some sand castles, see if we can spot any white pointers in their natural habitat,” he rambled as he tied up the longer bits of his hair. “Who knows, haha, maybe I’ll even go in the water this time!” 

He laughed again, turning to you to see if you shared in his excitement. His smile lost some of it’s gleam when he saw that you hadn’t moved from your casual lean on a shipping box. “Oi, don’t ya wanna get your togs on?” 

You rolled your eyes and snickered at his sly grin as he continued in a teasing tone. “Or are ya planning on going out in your starkers? Now, I’m pretty sure the coppers wouldn’t like that, but we’ve already gone and pissed ‘em right the fuck off, so —” Junkrat sauntered closer, looking you over lustily as his hands grasped you around the hips “— g’arn. I’d love ta see ya in your starkers.”

“You’ve seen me naked plenty of times,” you said with a smirk, playfully pushing his face away when he tried to lean down to kiss you. “Besides, I still need to get a swimsuit.” 

Junkrat sighed in playful dismay as your arms twined around his neck. “I suppose we’ll just have ta find another way ta scar the minshies.” 

Your voice was tinged with laughter. “Darling, please. You scar children all the time. Don’t forget how you and Mako raided that arcade. And that toy store. And that ice cream parlour. And —” 

Junkrat giggled, nipping at your nose to distract your count. “Ay, love, no worries! Next time I feel like filling in the void of my childhood with theft and villainy I’ll make sure ta bring you along. Yanno I’ve always wanted ta hijack a roller coaster.”

“Ooh, hijacking roller coasters sounds fun,” you teased back. “What about taking a trip to Blizzworld Tokyo? There are lots of roller coasters there.” 

Laughing, Junkrat rested his forehead against yours, the brim of his hat brushing over your head. “Sounds like a date,” he grinned, pecking you on an eyebrow as he moved back. “But, since we’re here and I’ve already got me cozzie on…” 

You shook your head and pulled his hat right. “Yeah, yeah. Go on, you,” you said, giving him a swat on the rear as he made his way to the door. “I’ll be there as soon as I get my hands on something nice.” 

Junkrat tittered as he picked up the a towel, umbrella, and sunblock he’d nicked earlier. “Something nice, ya say? I can hardly wait.” 

You shooed him out and towards the beach, pausing just a moment to swipe some sunblock on his nose before kissing him goodbye. His arms wrapped around you as he dipped you back, pressing hungrily into the kiss before letting you stand again. 

“Don’t keep me waiting too long, love,” he warned, biting your lip. “I hate waiting.” 

“Yes sir,” you returned, biting back. Laughing, you pulled away before he could retaliate. Giving him a quick salute and a smirk, you said, “Make sure you get a good spot!” 

With that you were off into the town, quickly locating a swim suit shop. Choosing one wasn’t too hard given the sheer variety they had, and you quickly went from a selection of five to three to one. 

And it was perfect. Exactly your style, size, and even your favourite colour. 

There was even a matching towel and tote bag. You grabbed those as well before going into the changing room to ‘try on’ your find. Along the way you found the fire alarm. 

Slipping away in the resulting confused chaos was easy. 

The beach had gotten considerably more crowded during your visit to the shop, and at first you had trouble finding Junkrat. 

Oh, wait, no - there he was. Running back and forth in with surf, getting his ankle wet, and cackling. He had at least laid out his towel and managed to stick the umbrella in the ground, but hadn’t opened it before running off. 

You positioned your towel next to his and spread out the umbrella, giving yourself shade to sit in. Because no way were you sitting in the sun on an already boiling day. 

“Oi, you,” Junkrat yelled as he ran over. “Rack off! That’s my possie, for me and me —” Seeing it was you he skidded to a stop, stumbled, and landed on his stomach. 

Turning over (likely to try and play it off as a purposeful move), he propped his head up and grinned. “Well, fancy seeing you here, love,” he said. “And may I just say that you look…” 

Your lips twisted in amusement as he trailed his eyes over you in a stunned silence. “So this spot’s for you and yours?” 

“Yeah,” he breathed out, still taking in your form. “Me and… mine.” His eyes held a familiar heat when he caught your gaze again. 

His free hand was twisting in the sand as you leaned back, intentionally putting your body on display as you pretended to look yourself over. “So, do you like my new suit,” you said. “It was a real steal.” 

Junkrat chuckled and went to kneel between your legs as he examined the suit with roaming hands. “Well, the ankle-biters won’t find it exactly scarring.” 

Leaning forward, you cupped his neck and dragged your hand down his chest, feeling the sand that stuck there. “Do you want it to be scarring,” you asked against his parted lips. 

With a short laugh that sounded more like a whine Junkrat shot forward, pressing you back and down against your towel. “I think,” he whispered as he broke away to bite at your neck and shoulders, “I’d rather scar you up a bit.” 

You hissed as his teeth dug into your collarbone. Biting your lip to hold in whatever noise was trying to escape your throat, you wrapped your arms around him and knocked his hat off in the same movement. “Yes, please,” you pleaded into his good ear as you ground your hips into his. 

“You gonna beg for it like last time?” His words broke upon your skin as he moved over you like a slow wave. “C’mon, love, are ya gonna beg me —” he grabbed your ass, pulling sharply up as he grunted through clenched teeth “—ta take care of you?” 

Small, quiet pleas fell from your lips and into his ears as he fiercely kissed at your face, neck, shoulders, chest… And then it fell out. You froze in mortification as he paused in confusion. 

Somewhere nearby a mother was loudly complaining about youths these days as she dragged a wide-eyed child away. 

Junkrat chuckled lowly before moving to prop himself up on his elbows over you, expression somewhere between confused and concerned. “Ay, love, now it just could be my hearing’s a bit more buggered than usual, but… but did ya just call me daddy?” 

You blushed, wanting to sink into the sand beneath you. “No,” you denied quickly. “Maybe.” 

His expression grew more confused. “I ain’t even old enough ta be your dad. And why would ya even… oh.” 

A shit-eating grin overtook his face. 

“Don’t you dare,” you warned, shaking a finger in the space between your noses.

“Aw, c’mon, love, that’s no way ta talk to dear old dad, now issit?” 

“Oh, fuck you, you know that’s not how that works.” 

He giggled as you shoved him off, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into a spooned position on his side. “Such language! Now what kinda father would I be if I were ta just let you go wandering off after back talk like that?”

Cutting off your response with a giggle and a tap on your nose that turned into his arm curling over your shoulders, he whispered in your ear, “I really just oughta bend you over my knee and give ya a nice spanking.” 

Your hands swatted ineffectually at his chest as he laughed at your blush. “You’re not playing fair,” you whined. Then you darted in to bite at his Adam’s apple in revenge. 

“Oi,” he groaned, eyelids fluttering, “who’s not playing fair now?” 

“Neither of y’all are gonna be playing much longer if y’all don’t stop this behavior, now.” 

Junkrat and you both froze again and looked up to see a dark-skinned lifeguard with a prosthetic arm glaring down at you as his teeth sawed on a toothpick. 

“Uh, hello,” Junkrat said lamely. “We weren’t doing nothing.” 

“Not according to the folks around y’all,” the lifeguard said with a frown. “Look, if y’all wanna be all over each other, all willy nilly like that, please remember there are families with children nearby.” 

Before you could attempt to defuse the situation, Junkrat grinned that same shit-eating grin. “Oh, but we are a family! Guess who’s just learnt he’s a daddy!” 

Oh no. You blushed, looking up at the lifeguard with barely disguised horror on your face as Junkrat bit his tongue to stifle his laughter. The lifeguard, for his part, seemed confused and taken aback as he looked at the two of you. 

“Well, uh, congratulations,” he said in a questioning tone as one eyebrow arched. “Still don’t mean y’all can celebrate like that in public.” 

“We understand, sir,” you replied, clapping a hand over Junkrat’s mouth before he could say anything else. You were glad that your only response to him licking your palm was a slight twitch of discomfort. “We won’t do it again.” 

The lifeguard glared down at you and shrugged, as if to say ‘I don’t get paid enough for this shit.’ 

Junkrat licked your hand again and bit it slightly as the other man walked off, watching you with crinkled eyes when you turned to glare at him. The idiot whom you loved. 

“Did you have to lick my hand,” you growled as you pulled it away and wiped the saliva off on the towel. 

“Ain’t it supposed ta be daddy what gags you, not the other way round?” The shit-eating grin was back. That, or it had never left. 

“God, you are so weird.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” he drawled, waving a hand dismissively toward the sky before shooting you a smile. “But ya love me.” 

You laughed. “Got me there. But you know what I’d really love right now,” you asked, earning a curious hum. “Building a sandcastle.” 

As soon as the words registered Junkrat was off towards the surf with some poor kid’s toy bucket and shovel. “Bet I can build a better castle’n you, love,” he shouted over his shoulder. 

“You’re on,” you shouted back as you darted after him. 

After about an hour of playing in the sand and surf there was a commotion that started near the fishing pier and steadily drew closer. The news of it spread like wildfire across the beach as parents bundled up their children and dragged them away from the water. 

“Shark,” the lifeguard shouted, blowing his whistle as he stood on his watchtower. “Everyone, outta the water!” 

Junkrat looked at you with an excited smile over his malformed pile of sand. “I’ll bet that’s Roadhog.” 

Looking over his shoulder at the fishing ship that a shark pod seemed to be circling, you recognised Roadhog’s form tossing buckets of red flesh overboard. “I’ll bet that’s our ride.” 

Taking a moment to give you a fiery kiss, Junkrat bounded off to get the motorcycle as you went to scoop up the things you had left by the umbrella. It was easier to move now that there were so many people streaming away from the sand, and you took great advantage of that when the roaring of the bike sounded. 

Junkrat drove over the breakers with a speed that left the bike and sidecar flying more often than not. Somewhere in the distance sirens sounded - the gig was up. Time to leave the Lucky Country.

Skidding to a halt with a spray of sand, Junkrat shouted “Get on” at you as you shoved the beach things into the side car and hopped on the bike behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist. Revving the engine again, he drove off down the beach and up the pier. 

“Outta the way, ya drongos,” Junkrat whooped as you laughed gleefully, leaving a wide swath of terror along the boardwalk as tourists leapt out of the way. 

You looked to check where the fishing boat was, and tapped Junkrat on the shoulder before pointing down a side dock where Roadhog was laying out a gangway for you. 

Junkrat cackled as he swerved, knocking over a series of newspaper stands as the sidecar crashed into them. Sirens sounded behind you, and looking back you could see some police on motorcycles of their own weaving up the path. 

You turned to give them a rude gesture before sliding your hand into Junkrat’s side pouch and pulling out a handful of grenades. 

One of the officers saw what you were doing and pulled back, shouting ignored orders to his comrades. The other drove over a grenade and was launched head-long over his bike when the smiling explosive saw to his back wheel. The bike landed atop him with another loud bang, though that was almost drowned out by the explosion of the third bike’s motor. 

You loved the sticky bombs, you really did. You also loved how you could feel Junkrat’s laughter as the pier behind you turned into a giant fireball. 

Well, that took care of the police. 

Soon you, Junkrat, and Roadhog were setting sail on the _Dame Edna_ , where Roadhog took you aside to show off all the deep sea fish he had caught with the previous owners. 

“Seems like you had fun,” you said as Junkrat went to stow the bike. Roadhog nodded, reaching up to ruffle your hair before poking lightly at one of the bite marks on your neck. “Yeah, we had fun, too, but it was mostly building sand castles because someone called the lifeguard on us.” 

“Fucking bastard acted like we’d been rooting right there in the open,” Junkrat complained as he rejoined you, shoving his way under Roadhog’s arm to hug his partner. “Kinda makes me wish we had been. Give those wowsers something ta really take a good Captain Cook at.” 

Suddenly Junkrat broke into laughter, muffling it in Roadhog’s side before shooting you an amused grin. “Oi, Roadhog, guess what?” 

You felt your stomach drop out as you realised that it was that shit-eating grin again. “Junkrat, no,” you started to say, not sure you’d be able to handle Roadhog knowing about that kink. 

Junkrat spoke over you, loudly declaring “I’m someone’s daddy!” 

Roadhog didn’t respond for a few seconds. Then, shoulders drooping, he sighed. 

“Who did you guys kidnap this time?”


	3. Reader x Roadhog; "Quilting Class" (SFW)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Request: Request for Reader & Roadhog getting to know each other and bonding over something cute like being members of a crocheting/gardening club etc. please^^ Can be either romantic or platonic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As an aside - this story uses my personal headcanon that Roadhog is Anangu. The wanampi tale Roadhog tells is actually directly lifted from Anangu Dreamings and the only reason I chose that one was because the rest of the Dreamings I was able to learn about at the time involved killing/eating spouses, which didn't work with what I was going for.

You hadn’t expected this to happen.

Or, rather, you hadn’t expected that you would be ever be asked to something like this.

This being, of course, accompanying Roadhog to some crafting class. You would have thought he’d only ask Junkrat or… okay, maybe only Junkrat. But no; instead, Roadhog asked you.

When you’d ask why, he simply shook his head and said, “Too impatient.”

Then you recalled that Junkrat had recently gotten bored with how slowly the microwave had worked. Had being the operative word.

“Yeah, sure. When is it?”

Roadhog handed you a flyer and almost patted you on the head before obviously rethinking that action. Instead he gave you a thumbs up. You returned it with a smile. Roadhog didn’t move for a few moments. Your smile slowly faded as you fiddled with the flyer in your hands, folding it up and putting it in your pocket.

Did he have something else to say, or was there something wrong? Was he okay?

He raised his other hand. Well, okay then. Now he was now giving you two thumbs up. You returned the gesture and promised to meet him at the entrance of the compound.

Then he nodded sharply and pivoted on the spot to rejoin Junkrat on the other side of the room. The younger man looked up at his fellow Junker. A smirk appeared on Junkrat’s face, then his gaze shot to you. His mouth moved he said something that had Roadhog cuffing him upside the head. Which didn’t do anything except result in loud, raucous laughter and two thumbs up to the big guy.

The gesture earned Junkrat another punch as he continued to laugh. You returned to work, the sound following you down the corridor.

The hectic activities around base left you unable to consider the class any further. In fact, you were so busy that you had forgotten entirely to look the flyer over. Later, when you were in your quarters and changing for bed it fell out of your pocket. You hoped that Roadhog hadn’t been keeping an eye on you somehow to see if you actually read the thing - you did like the man.

Sure, he was a bit quiet and had a violent reputation that almost matched Doomfist's, but he had only ever been calm around you. And he had given you a customised stuffed Patchimari for your last birthday. It looked vaguely like you, which had made you laugh when you unwrapped it. The handwritten card had said simply ‘limited edition’ instead of any normal birthday wishes, but that didn’t matter. It was a lovely gift.

He had, of course, gotten a couple for himself and Junkrat as well. Which made you feel a little less special, but that was fine. He was just being a good friend.

But that meant that this, whatever, this was, wasn’t Roadhog stealthily asking you on a date. Which was fine.

You and he were just good friends. And that was fine. You forced yourself to stop examining the situation as you bent to pick up the flyer.

Huh. A day long quilting class. That was somehow both surprising and yet not at all surprising.

Oh, good, and you were free the day the class was.

You spent the rest of the week looking forward to the class and wondering what in the world Roadhog was thinking with this. Did he just want to make something? Did he want to get to know you better? Did he like you like you liked him?

Why did this remind you of how much you’d excite yourself over your old high school crushes? You hadn’t been in high school for about as many years as you’d been in school in total.

These thoughts filled your head as you adjusted the simple ‘jeans and jumper’ look you’d chosen for the day. So what if it was one of your nicer pairs of jeans and your nicest jumper? You were going out in public and just wanted to look nice.

You were going out in public with Roadhog and just wanted to look nice. Maybe he’d notice that you’d dressed up and -

You were going out in public with Roadhog as friends. Which was fine. You were allowed to look nice if you wanted to.

Roadhog had already been waiting for you when you arrived. You nervously checked your watch as you walked up, only to see that you were on time. Roadhog waved to you as you approached, which you returned with a smile and a wave of your own.

He was wearing a vest and shirt. It was classy yet casual, but you weren’t sure if you preferred seeing his tattoos or seeing him look like someone who would be carrying a stack of wood in one hand and bringing you a cup of hot cocoa in the other. Why seeing him in a shirt gave you such a different impression of him was beyond you. It was just a piece of cloth.

Of course that piece of cloth did leave you wondering whether he was dressing up because of you, or because he was wanting to not get kicked out of the class for giving little old ladies more reason to clutch their pearls.

You greeted him with a nod and a grin, wanting to either shake his hand or kiss the sides of his mask, or hug him but unsure if he’d accept it. He nodded in return and raised a hand to hover it beside your arm before letting it fall again. Turning, he motioned towards the garage.

Along the way you chattered about your week and how much you’d been looking forward to this class. He didn’t say much, but did hum in an approving way at several points and chuckled whenever you mentioned something funny.

“Had a nice week myself,” he said as you entered the garage, reaching over and flicking a switch. The lights flickered on loudly as he led you to his bike. “Been looking forward to this, too.”

“Have you ever done quilting before,” you asked. You hadn’t, or if you had it had been so long you had forgotten everything about it. He looked up from opening a compartment on his bike.

Roadhog shook his head and pulled out a dusty and banged up white motorcycle helmet. “Here.”

You took the proffered helmet and put it on, looking between the bike and the sidecar. “So I’ll be in there,” you asked, pointing at the smiling sidecar.

Roadhog snorted, shook his head, and unhitched it. “Easier to park this way.”

He climbed atop his bike and turned the ignition. The engine roared to life loudly enough that you felt it in your bones and the air around you filled briefly with the scent of petrol. Most people these days used electric engines; the antiquity of the metal beast before you was almost awe-inspiring. Then Roadhog turned to you, cocking his head to the side as he gripped one of the handlebars. Gesturing with his other hand, he motioned for you to sit on the seat in front of him.

Right, of course. The customised seat he had left no where else to sit.

Sliding onto the bike never made you feel smaller, surrounded as you were by his warm mass. As he drove you could feel the thrum of the engine below you. You were also aware of him. How could you not be?

He was everywhere and you were unable to forget the incidental press of his legs on the outside of your own and the brush of his arms over your shoulders as he drove. Or how soft his belly was behind you, or the hard press of muscle just below those layers of fat.

You were also aware of the occasional small yet racking cough whose sound was stolen by his mask and the wind. Instead of asking after it, you filled the air by musing about how the class would be structured. What you were expecting, what you would do with the quilts you made when it was over.

Roadhog stayed mostly quiet throughout the drive, content with listening to you talk. Once in a while he’d say something simple, such as “Hadn’t thought of that” or “Good plan.”

“What will you do with your quilt,” you asked as he pulled into the car park of the centre the class was held at.

He waited until you had climbed off to turn off the ignition (which had been between your spread knees throughout the journey) and shrugged in response to your question. “Bedcover, maybe,” he said, sounding unsure.

You unclipped the helmet and handed it over. “That sounds like a good idea. At least then you fully appreciate it,” you said, rubbing your thigh absently. It was odd to stand for some reason - you could still feel the thrum of the engine beneath you. “I still don’t know what I’ll do with mine.”

Roadhog shrugged and stowed your helmet. “Decide when you have it.”

When the two of you walked into the classroom everyone had fallen silent. After a brief moment of awkwardness the teacher came over, asking if they could help you. Roadhog nodded and held out the flyer. The teacher had immediately become welcoming, smiling at the two of you and gushing over how nice it was to have a couple joining them today.

You had faltered, simultaneously wanting to deny their statement (because it wasn’t true) and wanting to see what Roadhog would do. Roadhog stood silently at your side, and the teacher smiled again before gesturing to two open seats.

The first hour or two was spent teaching everyone how to hold the needles, thread them, and other sewing basics. Roadhog hadn’t paid attention during this time, instead grabbing a hooked needle and practising various stitches as the teacher mentioned them. They eventually came around and asked if they could show his work to the class as an exemplar. As the scrap of cloth was passed around Roadhog quietly showed you how to do the same, fingers brushing your hands occasionally to adjust your hold or the angle of the needle.

Then the teacher brought out multicoloured scraps of fabric and soft downy materials. At last you had come to the meat of the class. The teacher clapped their hands together, looking out at the class’s blank faces with glee as they announced today’s theme.

The theme was apparently a ‘share stories in the round’ thing - something about traditions of sewing stories into the fabric. The finished quilt would thus posses scenes from stories important to the quilter, the goal being making the finished product more personal.

Of course this necessitated working in groups. Each table was large enough for four quilters to work at. You and Roadhog shared an aside glance (or you thought you did; it was hard to tell with the mask) and refused to move.

For your troubles you ended up having two random people join your table. You had seen them elbow other people out of the way, and weren’t sure how to feel about the mercenary way they looked at Roadhog and his sewing. He, however, seemed content to completely ignore their presence and respond only to your remarks.

You, however, nodded politely as the stories were shared. So what if you all but tuned them out in favour of cutting the scraps of fabric you’d need or passing things to Roadhog when he’d lean towards you and request them. They didn’t seem to mind, chattering away and looking with interest at Roadhog’s work (and jealously at you for some reason).

Then a brief silence fell over the table. You were focused on pinning a square in place, however, and didn’t notice until Roadhog’s warm hand covered your elbow. Looking up sharply, you saw that everyone was waiting for your tale. Apologising, you shared an amusing story someone in your family had told you once. It was nice, sharing the tale and reminiscing fondly of the transferred memory as you stitched it into your quilt.

Roadhog’s story was a simple one - his first day with Talon. And how everyone but someone who sounded suspiciously like you had been standoffish to him, taking his silence to be disinterest.

The four quilts at the table shared elements of the stories - the colours and small squares brought the stories to life before your eyes.

During the lunch break Roadhog drove you to a nearby café. It was a cute place decorated with colourful lights and plushes, and the hostess seemed to recognise your companion. You two were shown to a quiet corner table.

“Is this alright,” Roadhog asked, standing beside the table.

The seat was soft beneath you as you slid in next to the window. “Of course.”

He raised a hand toward you when you smiled, but pulled away to give a thumbs up. When the waiter came you ordered your favourite meal and Roadhog ordered a vegetarian pasta dish and expresso.

“So what do you think of this so far,” you asked.

Roadhog shrugged, the eyeglasses of his mask trained towards you. “Nice.”

You nodded. “You really know your way with needles. Did you see how surprised that snotty lady two tables over looked when the teacher praised your practice stitches?”

“If she thinks it odd that I can sew,” he intoned gravely, “let her come to Oz and see just what skills you need to live there.”

You looked up at him and smiled. “Well maybe you could tell some stories from Australia after lunch. Give her something to think about.”

Roadhog’s hand grew tight around the dwarfed cup in his hand as the mask’s eyes stared into yours. Drawing in a shuddering breath, he tilted his head to the side and gave you a thumbs up.

The class resumed with much the same sort of story telling. You paid about as much attention, joking with Roadhog under your breath. It was easier now, as he had moved his chair close enough that your legs sometimes brushed beneath the table.

You told your story. Something from your childhood that left Roadhog laughing.

But then came Roadhog’s turn for telling a story. Using few words he wove a tale of two beings called Wanampi, a father and a son.

The son was deformed. Why and how he was, Roadhog didn’t specify, beyond that one could not look at him without first noticing his deformity. Some of the nearby people had simply laughed at him, taunted him, and poked him with sticks until one day the Wanampi lashed out and swallowed them all. The remaining people retaliated and chased the two away, though the Wanampi eventually returned to dwell in a nearby waterhole.

“Oh, I didn’t know we were allowed to tell myths,” one of the other people at the table said. “If that’s the case, I think I’ll tell the story about how Odin hung himself to learn the runes -”

Roadhog tensed beside you as he quietly stitched two multicoloured snake-like creatures into the border of his quilt.

The class continued, though now Roadhog stuck to stories that sounded more like his own past. References to fighting in the Omnic Crisis, references to scavenging in the Outback, a brief tale about storming the Tower of London…

Your tales seemed boring in comparison, but Roadhog always gave you a nod and a thumbs up after you finished speaking.

And so the class continued. Through it all you and Roadhog softly talked to each other, making quiet jokes and dry remarks about how your quilts were going.

Then, all too soon in your opinion, it was over.

Looking down at your quilt, you traced your finger over the stitched smile of a long dead relative. “This was really very nice, Roadhog.” Your voice may have been overly warm and soft, but you no longer gave a damn. “Thank you for inviting me.”

“Mako.”

You turned to see him carefully folding up his quilt so that the square depicting his arrival at Talon was on top. “Sorry?”

“My name.”

Smiling, you repeated it. Mako. Roadhog drew in a rasping breath, and turned to you. Reaching out, he brought a hand to you and closed it over your shoulder with slight hesitation.

He didn’t say anything for a long moment. You opened you mouth, looking curiously up at him.

“Thank you for coming with me,” he said, cutting you off. “It was… lovely.”

Your heart fluttered. “No problem.”

His hand squeezed your shoulder lightly before sliding off. His fingers shook as he took up his quilt and turned to leave.

You ignored the way your shoulder seemed to tingle and followed him.

The return trip to the compound was mostly silent. Upon your return, Roadhog nodded to you and leant down to reattach the sidecar.

You fiddled with the quilt in your arms. “Hey, Mako, maybe we could do this again sometime. I think I saw some posters for a cake decorating class at the centre next week. Maybe we could go. If you’re free, that is.”

The snout of his mask turned to you and tilted to the side as he said your name softly. “I’d love to.”

You smiled and turned to leave. Your hand had just closed over the door handle when Roadhog called out your name again.

Turning, you watched as he jogged over. He paused, wheezing slightly, before a flood of words came out of him.

“Listen, I don’t want to lead you on or be led on. I like you. A lot. I had wanted to ask you to this class as a date, but wussed out last second. I think you like me too, but…” He paused, scratching his stomach and looking aside. “I hope that this isn’t something you didn’t want to hear, because I value your friendship even if you don’t like me the same way. You’re one of the few people I’ve met who deserve better than the ruin that is our world, and I don’t want to ruin this like I ruined…”

Suddenly you couldn’t control your smile. Adjusting the quilt in your arms, you reached out and touched him lightly on the wrist.

“It’s okay, Mako. I do like you.” His body tensed at your words even as he bent towards you. “I like you a lot.”

Roadhog drew in a shaking breath and reached up to his mask. Pulling it away, he revealed a face that was at once nothing like what you had imagined and exactly that. But he was smiling at you and leaning down with your name on his lips as he asked if he could kiss you.

Your answer was to jump up, throwing your arms around his neck as you kissed him with everything you had.


	4. F!Reader x Junkrat; "We're Expecting" (SFW) pt 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Request: Is it alright to request Junkrat x fem reader raising baby twins? I know he wouldn’t be the smartest dad but I can’t get the thought of having the rat man’s bratty babies out of my mind.
> 
> A/N: I messed up. I forgot the ‘raising’ part and focused on the ‘having’ part. This is what I get for not copy/pasting my prompts to my writing apps. A followup with actual raising has been requested, but I am on hiatus currently.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: I do not often pull punches in regards to how the Outback would realistically be. I also do a great deal of research on what health hazards there would be in such situations ~~because it interests me~~. To make a long story short - fertility problems due to radiation do not simply mean 'no longer able to bear/sire children,' though I understand using that idea to avoid issue.

Jamison “Junkrat” Fawkes was a simple man.

Okay, that was a lie — he was anything but simple. However he was, at times, very oblivious.

When you had first started getting sick, he had blamed the cafeteria cooks of trying to poison you. You and Roadhog had barely managed to keep him from exploding them (and the kitchen). When you got sick the morning after Junkrat started cooking, he had blamed Roadhog for not cleaning the pots properly.

This had led to an amazing effort on Junkrat’s part, wherein he undertook the entirely unnecessary task of giving the kitchen a deep cleaning. He even bathed before cooking to make sure he wasn’t the one poisoning you.

You still got sick. Junkrat tried to blow up the food supply trucks next, blaming poor quality ingredients.

Roadhog had held Junkrat back by his harnesses. The older Junker just stared at you, sighing in frustration as Junkrat twisted and spat in his grip, vowing vengeance on those who dared try to hurt you.

Roadhog, ever the more astute of the two (and possibly due to being able to clearly remember life before the Omnium Explosion), had put two and two together very quickly. So quickly, in fact, that it had surprised even you when he told you to get a pregnancy test after merely half a week of being sick.

Two little lines appeared, to neither your surprise nor Roadhog’s.

Junkrat, however, had sequestered himself in his workroom and was yet unaware of this development. Knocking on the soot covered door, you called his name.

“Who’s there,” Junkrat called out. “If you’re here to see what I’m up to, you should know that I’m definitely not working on bombs for the supply trucks no more. _Definitely_ not. ‘Cause that’d, that’d be just… just _stupid_. Even if they are murderous little _shits_.”

“It’s me,” you said, opening the door. “Here with a casual reminder to not kill the people who bring in our food and some news.” He laughed as you entered, spinning his stool to face the door and calling your name out in greeting.

Junkrat’s smile grew by a fraction as you stepped closer, standing between his knees with your hands laid lightly on his shoulders. “Well, darl,” he said over a giggle, wrapping his arms around your waist. “You’ve got my full attention. Only good news, I hope.”

You hoped so, too. Your lover was… unpredictable. “Well, you know how I’ve been sick recently?”

Junkrat frowned and almost turned back to his worktable, muttering something about chemicals and less noticeable fuses. You caught his face, took a deep breath, and broke the news.

“Beg yours? You’re up the duff?” He laughed. “Aw, g’arn. Pull the other one.”

You’d spent enough time with him to know that he didn’t believe a word you’d said. “I’m not making it up.” You pulled out the pregnancy test, letting him read the display before setting it aside. “I’m pregnant.”

He blinked. “What.” Giggling, he looked away, bringing a hand to his head. Then he froze, expression unreadable, and asked, “ _How?_ ”

“Well, you see, when a man and a woman have sexual relations —”

Junkrat scoffed. He had yet to smile. “Oi, I’m not _daft_. I know what rooting can lead to. I just…” He bit his lip, hands tightening on your hipbones almost to the point of pain as he stared at your belly. “You’ve not… you’ve not been… seeing someone behind me back, right?”

You frowned, smoothing your hands over his head and face. “Of course not. Why would you think that?”

“It can’t be mine. It’s not possible,” Junkrat said, voice firmer than you’ve ever heard it. “Radiation kinda fucks up the baby-making process, in case you didn’t know.”

“… Aren’t there still animals being born in the Outback every year,” you countered.

Junkrat looked up at you, obviously confused. “Well, _yeah_ , but they’re animals —”

“Well how are animals still managing to have kids when humans suddenly can’t?”

He scoffed, hands dropping from your frame as he turned and shoved the bomb he was working on haphazardly aside. “Like I said,” he drawled, picking up another project and starting to tinker. “They’re animals. It’s different.”

Rolling your eyes, you kneaded his tense shoulders. “It can’t be that different.”

“Well radiation’s the reason most of them never make it past the halfway mark.” He giggled, but you could see his knuckles grow white around the screwdriver. “The ones what do usually have fathers what’re crash hot, spunk, built like shit houses… Nah. Can’t be mine.”

“Why not,” you retorted heatedly.

“ ‘Cause I’m none of those things, so, if it’s mine, all it’d end with’s buckets of blood and tears,” he said, sounding like he was describing the colour of the sky. “And I don’t wanna see you cry on account of the fact that I’m just a scungy derro what’s got bodgie spoof.” He hissed out a few laughs as the movements of his tinkering grew jerkier. “You’re even happy ‘bout it, or ‘least… you _were… haha…_ Nah, love. _Hehehe_ … No one’s ever happy with me. _Heh_. All ‘n all, it’s adding up ta the next thing you’ll be telling me’s that you’ve been rooting ‘round with randos when you’re s’posed to be mine.”

You hummed and bit your lip, searching for words. As you thought, you smoothed your hands over his shoulders again. Junkrat shuddered against the touch and flinched away.

“You know that I would never cheat on you, Jamie.”

The device in his hands fell loudly from his hands. “Ya swear you’re not having the lend of me,” he asked in a small voice, staring blankly at the sketches and blueprints pinned to the wall before him. “Ya swear it’s mine.”

“I swear,” you said. You wound your arms around his neck and pressed a kiss to his ear. “You’re going to be a father, Jamie.”

“A _father_.” His voice quivered, left hand coming up to caress your forearms. Glancing over his face, you saw the beginnings of a smile as he blinked rapidly. “I’m gonna be a _dad_ …”

Then Junkrat’s hand fell, the flickers of joy dying like embers in the rain. Chuckling, he poked the device and said, in a lilting voice, “Yanno, if it don’t survive I won’t… I’d not blame ya. I-I’d still… I’d not leave you. Yanno that, right?”

Your heart wrenched at the idea. Laying your cheek against his, you murmured, “And I wouldn’t leave you. But, you know we have doctors here, right? Speaking of which, I’ve got an appointment to schedule, if you want to join me.”

Junkrat’s hand had come up to cup the side of your face, but at your words he suddenly tensed. Turning to face you, he tittered nervously. “Ya don’t seriously mean ta tell me you’re going to see the quack.”

The other agents watched with confused amusement as you led the way to the medical wing, Junkrat trying to stop you with claims that Moira would turn you into a newt or some other strange creature (or worse, turn you into an emotionless living tool like Amélie). Moira, for her part, merely raised an eyebrow when the pair of you barged into the clinic.

“— and don’t even get me started on what she could do ta the billy,” Junkrat was saying as you entered. “I don’t trust her not ta conduct some sorta evil experiment on our…”

He trailed off upon seeing Moira. Squaring his shoulders and glaring at the woman, he gave her a terse nod. “Zigs.”

Moira looked up from her computer screens, eyebrows raised a mere fraction. “Still calling me that, are ye?” She rolled her eyes at his silence before turning to you with steepled fingers. “Given what he’d been saying, I believe you’ve got something te tell me?”

A bolt of fear ran through you, and suddenly coming to see the geneticist seemed like a dangerous idea. “I’m pregnant.”

“I see.” The woman flicked her eyes to Junkrat, looking him up and down. Turning back to you, her thin lips turned up in an attempt at a comforting smile. “Are congratulations in order?”

Junkrat moved to stand slightly in front of you, puffing out his chest. You pushed past him, shooting him a warning look before walking up to the desk. “Yes,” you said. Then Junkrat’s words came flooding back. “Well, maybe? I was going to set up prenatal appointments anyway, but…”

Moira’s smile took on a sinister gleam. “You two are concerned about his nigh certain inability to sire healthy offspring?”

Wow, that was not how you would have phrased it. Junkrat growled, standing close enough you that you could feel his warmth along your back. Moira’s smile fell into a more professional expression, turning to her computer before you managed a response.

“I can schedule ye for a few check-ups.” Tapping her screen, she scrolled through some programs. Without looking up, she went on to say, “Regardless of how it turns out, it’ll be a fascinating case study.”

“What.” Junkrat’s arms curled you away from the doctor and behind him once more.

The doctor seemed amused by his wary glare. “Imagine how useful it’d be for leukaemia patients te have more data regarding how radiation may affect their future health. Imagine what we could learn.”

Junkrat was shaking his head flatly as she spoke. You peeked over his shoulder to give your answer. “I just want check ups. I don’t want to be part of any studies or experiments.”

Moria shrugged, tapping away at her screen again. “Very well. Doctor-patient confidentiality all the way through, then, and no unwanted testings.” A screen popped up in front of your face with your picture and a list of dates. “Press your hand to the scanner there to sign and verify the dates. I’ve only booked you fortnightly for the next month so far. We’ll set up more as needed.”

One month turned into two and you were placed on desk duty as per Moira’s orders. This was… annoying. You hated desk work.

You wanted to be on the field, helping to make the enemy bleed. But no. Talon couldn’t have that. No. Instead, you were now doing the dreaded paperwork. At a desk. Forbidden to join the rest of the team on missions. Not that you would have been much use, honestly. Especially if Junkrat were to have been on the mission with you. Even before the pregnancy your boyfriend would purposefully seek you out in the field. Sometimes he even went so far as to endanger the mission solely to hold your hand.

Imagine how much worse it would be for Talon if he knew that you, and his child, were on a battlefield, they said. You’d both be immense liabilities, they said. No one seemed to care about your arguments otherwise. The amount of physical affection Junkrat was now doling out didn’t help.

And here you’d thought the man couldn’t keep his hands off you before.

Oh how wrong you were.

Any time you were within arm’s length, Junkrat was pulling you into a protective embrace and glaring at anyone nearby, threatening to blow up those who dared approach with unholstered weapons. Or he was running his left hand over the curve of your stomach. Or both. He had even all but officially moved into your quarters, taking pains to set safety mechanisms and booby traps at every entrance.

The traps grew increasingly elaborate as time went on.

And then, one day, you got some new news about the pregnancy.

You returned to your quarters, carefully avoiding the traps as Junkrat had instructed. Opening the door, you found him recently returned from a mission, still covered in various stains and darting around like a caged bird, muttering to himself. And, of course, tinkering with the traps in a disorganised manner.

“No, no, this should be over there,” he said, suddenly ripping an explosive trap from beneath the windowsill and pivoting on his peg leg. His eyes lit up when he saw you. “Ah, heya, babe!”

Junkrat dropped the trap and crossed the room in three steps. “Mission went well, ‘n all that, as you can see. How’re you doing?”

“Awesome,” you replied, eliciting another pleased giggle as Junkrat pulled you into a smiling kiss.

Junkrat held you close, left hand gliding over your flank and bump. As he did so, he trembled with excitement. Your teeth clacked together, and he chuckled, hand stilling over your belly button. Pulling away, he looked down.

“Did ol’ Stardust have anything new ta say ‘bout the minshie?”

“Yes,” you said, smiling brightly. “The babies are completely healthy and coming along well.”

“Oh, _fuck_ me!” Your smile grew at his excited tone as he tucked your head beneath his chin, heedless of the soot. “What a fucking relief, the kid’s full feather!”

Apparently Junkrat had only focused on the second part of your news, opting instead to nuzzle the top of your head and hum contentedly.

“Gotta say, though, can’t stop thinking ‘bout the little ankle biter. D’ya wanna hear some of the new names I’ve thought up? There’s Cobb for Cobber, if it’s a boy, though, ‘course, he’d ‘prolly be poorly off with it, what with corn on the cob jokes some of the other tins might make. Ah well. I’ve got _heaps_ ’a names. Both for boys and girls. Oh, by the by, what d’ya think ‘bout Ima? Hm? Ima Fawkes would be an ace name, don’t ya think? _Haha_! Get it? _Ima_ …”

You sighed, wondering how he’d missed it. “You’ll need to choose at least two,” you teased, wrapping your arms around him.

Junkrat snorted, pressing a kiss to your hairline. “Yeah, yeah. In case it’s a boy or a girl.”

“Not what I had in mind.” Was he being purposefully dense?

His laughter reverberated through you. “But _why_ , then,” he whined playfully. “I thought you were gonna choose the middle name.”

“I am going to be choosing the middle names. But you still need to choose two.”

This time the laugh caught in his throat. He pulled away, eyes glazed over as he stared over your head. “Sorry, love,” he said, hand pressing into your shoulder as he dug a finger into his ear. “Think my hearing’s acting up again. _Haha_ … D’ya… two? Two as in…”

“Two as in twins,” you confirmed. Junkrat’s brow wrinkled, and as you ran your thumb over it soothingly he began to tear up. “You alright?”

“ _Hahaha_ , oh, love, I’m fucking fantastic! _Hah_! I just…” Junkrat laughed again, smiling as tears began to gather at his lashes. “I’d always thought I couldn’t have kids at all, let alone healthy ones.” His voice began to break up. “And now, here I am, having not one, but two healthy little buggers!”

A single tear escaped his eye. He sniffed and ground the heel of his hand into it. After a moment, he laughed and wiped the other eye clear. With eyes wrinkled in joy, Junkrat beamed down at you from behind his wrist. “This is bloody brilliant!”

He hiccoughed up a few laughs then suddenly sobered. Flattening his lips, he brushed his hand over the side of your face. “Please don’t tell me this is a rort. It ain’t that there’s anything sus ‘bout what you’ve said, I trust ya, but… y’aren’t pulling me leg, are you?”

“I have pictures to prove it,” you said, pulling the ultrasound scans out of your back pocket with a grin. You had barely unfolded them before Junkrat snatched them away, moving to a nearby lamp to examine them in detail. Laughing softly, you followed him.

“Holy bloody fuck,” he muttered, the pictures trembling in the light. When you came to his side, his eyes shot to your bump. “These’re in there?”

“Of course,” you replied, running a hand up and down his back. “I also know the sexes, if you want to —”

Junkrat crowed with laughter, picking you up by the hips and twirling you into a kiss. “Aw, I don’t care ‘bout that! I’m a dad!” Setting you down on your desk, he kissed you deeply and laughed. “Oh, fuck me, I’ve gotta give Roadhog the news! _Haha!_ I’m a _dad!_ Ta _twins!_ ”

Then he ran out of the room, giggling. The door had barely closed when he slammed it back open, a frown on his face. Bounding across the room, he plucked you from the desk.

“Gotta keep an even closer eye on ya now, darl,” he said, gathering you into his arms as he ran down the halls. “ _Haha_ , and here he’d thought I was already like a ‘roo in a room full ‘o pickpockets. _Hah_ , can’t wait to see what he thinks of this!”

You found the man in the armoury, using a grindstone to sharpen his hook. Like Junkrat, he hadn’t cleaned up from the field yet, and was covered in large rusty brown stains.

“Oi, pig face!” Roadhog looked up, only turning off the grindstone when Junkrat skipped over and set you down beside him. Hooking an arm around your shoulders, he beamed. “Guess what,” he asked before pointing his thumb at the two of you. “We’re expecting!”

Roadhog slowly lowered the hook. After a few moments filled with Junkrat’s chortling, he said, “Yes. I am aware.”

“With twins,” you added, grinning at Roadhog as Junkrat quivered at your side.

Roadhog’s head tilting to the side was all Junkrat needed to go off. 

“Now I know I’ve already gotten you t’agree ta be the godfather (or _hog_ father, rather, _haha!_ ) but —” Junkrat bounced away from you to slap his hands at his partner's arm. “— I’m gonna be a dad ta twins! Ya hear that?! _Haha! Twins!_ ” He paused for a split second, then jumped up and down with a laugh.

“Anyway, mate, anyway, I was thinking that you’d be a great pick for both the buggalugs as a godfather! ‘Specially seeing as you’ve managed to keep a dag like _me_ safe!” Hands clenching and unclenching rhythmically before him, Junkrat paused again. “So, whadd’ya say? Eh, Hog? No one I’d trust more ta keep me kids safe, were something ta happen to us.”

Roadhog simply nodded and gave you both a thumbs up. Junkrat giggled loudly, dancing in an odd skipping-hop around the grindstone and back to you. Panting with laughter, he drew you into a hug, then turned to face Roadhog again.

“Oi, mate, d’ya got any good kid names? I’ve gotta decide on two of ‘em now, and I want ‘em to be fucking ripper.”

Time passed. Your bump grew increasingly large. Junrakt grew increasingly mystified and excited as the pregnancy continued. Roadhog grew increasingly tired of the whole affair and the endless, overly detailed updates Junkrat gave him.

In light of this, Junkrat was judged as too distracted on the field (or, in the event he was on the field with Roadhog, too distracting). So someone in administration decided to place him on desk duty with you. This lasted a grand total of thirty minutes before he set his desk on fire and demanded to be switched to something less boring. Doomfist had laughed and put him in charge of vetting recruits’ combat readiness.

The number of new additions to the team fell drastically — this was good. It meant less awful paperwork for you to deal with. There were other benefits, too. Such as Moira getting to test her prosthetics more often. And Junkrat was given a carte blanche to explode things. Win-wins all around.

When you went into labour a little after 10 one evening, Junkrat had tried to keep you in your quarters (“I don’t want that quack getting her claws on ya when you’re all vulnerable like this!”) and convince you that whiskey was as good as Vicodin. You had threatened to castrate him if you didn’t get real pain medication. Moira was ready and waiting for you when Junkrat brought you to the clinic, presumably given a shout by one of your neighbours.

What followed was somewhere around nine hours of pain. Junkrat never left your side, despite turning white as a sheet when you started bleeding. Roadhog appeared at some point, offering Junkrat an opportunity to get some sleep (and avoid seeing you bleed more), but your boyfriend refused. He claimed it was to make sure that Moira wouldn’t do anything evil, to the woman’s amusement.

However it was obvious to both you and Roadhog that his real concern was not being there if either you or one of the babies died. Or if both babies died. Or if only you died. Or if you and one of the babies died. Or if all three of you died.

Roadhog had explained to you one day the statistics of death and childbirth in the Outback. It had seemed unreal, the idea that so much death surrounded what so many considered the dominion of life. But Junkrat’s concern was very much real and very well founded, if what Roadhog’s taciturn words outlined was true.

Recalling this in the midst of all your pain, with Junkrat stammering about how much blood there was at your side, did not help calm you.

Then Moira snapped at Junkrat, telling him to either trust her medical expertise or be forcibly removed from the room. It had shut him up at least, though his hand still trembled in your grip.

You weren’t entirely sure who cried more in the end — you or Junkrat.

All you were sure of was that he was crying with laughter when Moira put a squalling infant in his arms. He didn’t care that it was still covered in afterbirth, holding it to his cheek and bare chest with a starry look in his eyes. The second infant arrived shortly afterwards. Junkrat had handed the first to Roadhog, and took up the second with an equally awed expression. Roadhog held the tiny thing as if it were made of glass before passing it to you.

Moira cleaned you up before attempting to clean the babes. Which was smart — Roadhog ended up having to hold Junkrat back as Moira wheeled the infants away to clean, register, and swaddle them.

You were moved to a quiet corner of the clinic by a member of the medical staff. Junkrat followed closely, and Roadhog followed after fetching coffee and some bagels. Moira brought the babies directly to you, both wrapped in soft white blankets.

“Congratulations,” she said with a small smile as she placed both in your arms. “You and Mr. Fawkes are now the parents of two wee boys. May the Good Lord have mercy on us all.”

“You’ve not done anything t’em, have ya,” Junkrat demanded, peering over her shoulder. “Not done any weird experiments or tests?”

Moira sniffed, raising her eyebrows. “I’ll remind ye that I agreed at the very beginning not to do anything of the sort. If ye can read them, I’ve got the notes for what tests I did run ready to log.”

Junkrat began spitting in anger, and only calmed when Roadhog put a hand on his shoulder. “Names,” he said, pointing at your children.

“Oh, yeah, right!” Junkrat ran to your side, pulling up a chair and planting both elbows on the cot next to you. Chin in his right hand, he traced his fingers over the features of the confused and tired looking infants. “So, I was thinking this one can be Cobb, and this one can be Harry. Whadd’ya think?”

You hummed, eyes flicking up to Moira entering the names into her tablet. Nodding, you gave your choices for middle names. Moira nodded curtly, entering the information and pressing her thumb to their patient tags to upload the data.

As she left, Junkrat clambered onto the cot with you, cuddling you and the babies with a dreamlike smile. Roadhog, exhausted from making sure Junkrat wouldn’t try anything throughout the labour, sat silently in the corner with a cup of coffee. If not for the fact that he took a sip every few minutes, you would have thought he’d fallen asleep.

You were on the way to falling asleep yourself when Junkrat giggled softly and nudged your shoulder. “Hey, we never got t’use Ima,” he whispered, staring at the sleeping babes on your chest. “I was looking forward ta having an Ima Fawkes running ‘bout.”

“You’ve already got a Harry Fawkes,” you pointed out, nuzzling said child with your nose. “Isn’t that a terrible enough pun?”

“No,” he replied with a grin. “I think we may need another go at this, seeing as I’m dead set on getting an Ima now.”

“Don’t,” Roadhog piped up. “There’re already two Fawkeses too many.”

Junkrat snickered. “Ay, who said you get ta decide how many Fawkeses there are? Y’ain’t the one rooting her.”

“How about I decide,” you said, rolling your eyes. “Maybe I agree with Mako and don’t want any more Fawkeses.”

“But we’re an endangered species,” Junkrat protested, eyes crinkling at the edges. “Ya can’t blame me for wanting ta preserve the noble and illustrated Fawkes line.”

Roadhog snorted into his coffee, startling Cobb awake.

“I think you mean illustrious,” you laughed.

The banter continued until you nodded off, a soft smile on your face and surrounded by your beloved, makeshift family.


	5. Jesse McCree/F!Reader; Are You Jealous? (NSFW)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Request: I’d like to request a Mccree x fem-reader. I want to see you write him in your style! So how about a pining Mccree whose crush hangs out with Junkrat too much and not with him anymore, so he finally decides to confess his feelings and then some NSFW
> 
> A/N: I have always headcanoned McCree as a gigantic nerd. I'm sorry if this comes across as out of character.

“And then he was all like ‘oi, ya mad cunt, why hell’re ya going there for’ and I was like ‘for fun and fancy ta please miss Nancy’ and then the fucking bastard tried to smash me face in! Got into a real barney after that. Near blew up the pitch! Rotten piece ‘a junk it was, anyway. Set up only for fucking footy! Cunting suits, thinking footy’s th’only sport worth having a fair suck at. Didn’t even have no posts for rugby! But, oh, how ace the poppers were.” Junkrat giggled at the memory and chugged his third coffee.

You laughed along with him as you sipped your own morning drink.

Junkrat grinned at you, obviously enjoying the attention. His arms were confidently splayed over the back of the bench, brushing your shoulder whenever you leant back. Roadhog, sitting on the other side of the table, took a sip of his tea and tapped his pencil against his crossword puzzle. His mask left you wondering where his focus lay, as it always did.

Junkrat either didn’t care if Roadhog was looking elsewhere or their history left him able to read the mask. Whatever the case, the question of where Roadhog’s attention lay was answered when Junkrat excitedly slapped at Roadhog’s elbow until the mask tilted towards him before continuing his tale.

If you had been paying attention, you would have been able to easily read Jesse’s emotions as his easy grin transformed into a scowl upon seeing you sitting with the Junkers. Again.

He had no idea what you saw in those terrorists.

Was it the danger aspect? Jesse was pretty damn certain that he was a real dangerous man, too. He was just a bit more disciplined about it. Less likely to go running off, guns akimbo, to try and shoot somebody just because he got a bad case of ants in his pants. Unlike Junkrat.

Kid had a constant bad case of ants in his pants. And he didn’t even wear real pants.

Was it the accent? Jesse didn’t know if he could pull off an Australian accent (nor did he particularly want to try after the Italian Job), but surely some good old Southern charm was enough to sweep you off your feet. Hell, it had seemed like it was enough at first. He remembered how you’d swooned when he’d started chatting you up, how easy your conversations had been, how good of a shot he’d thought he’d had. And then the damn Junkers pulled into town, mucking things right up to hell with their wily ways.

For example, dragging you into some conversation or other every day and leaving Jesse high and dry after his morning training.

Maybe he should ask Winston for a schedule change. Switch for the evening spot with the Junkers. Of course, that would kind of muck up any plans he had of asking you out to dinner. But… maybe lunch could be a thing? Or maybe brunch. Were you into brunch? Jesse had imagined having a lazy Sunday brunch or two with you. It had been refreshing, and relaxing, and…

Oh, hell, now you were laughing at something Junkrat’d said again. Kid was full of youthful energy, always cracking jokes. Usually they were terrible, awful puns that barely deserved the name. But jokes all the same.

Jesse could tell jokes, too. And they’d be good jokes. Jokes that made sense. And were intelligible.

Was what made you like Junkrat the fact that he was so young? Jesse was, well, just a bit older than that twitchy kid. But then… maybe you didn’t go for non-twitchy guys. Especially those nearing their forties. But you’d seemed attracted to him before.

Before the damn Junkers came.

Goddamn, this was not what he wanted to think about right now. Turning away, Jesse grabbed a mug and fixed himself a cup of joe.

“Jesse!” Oh, fuck, here you were, coming up hot. As usual. “It’s been a while! How are things?”

“Eh, things’re fine, little lady,” he replied. Jesse turned to lean on the coffee machine, trying to look nonchalant. “How’re you?”

Shooting you a wink, he took a sip of the black coffee.

Oh Dear Lord. It tasted like something had died in his mouth.

You looked up at him curiously. “Are you sure things are okay,” you asked. “You don’t usually take your coffee black.”

Shit. You knew him too well.

“I’m, uh, expanding my horizons,” Jesse replied, trying to smile as he took another sip.

Who the fuck drank black coffee. It tasted like tar.

At the table in the corner, Junkrat guffawed loudly at something and slapped the table so hard that it rocked. Roadhog’s cup of tea toppled over, spilling liquid over the crossword puzzle and rolling to a stop against Junkrat’s pyramid of empty coffee cups.

Ah.

Bless Junkrat’s little over-caffeinated heart. Jesse bet that he liked black coffee.

“What does Junkrat’s taste in coffee have to do with you?” Ah, hell, he’d said that aloud, hadn’t he?

“Nothing.” Jesse forced a smile, flicking the brim of his hat up. “Just wanted to see what all the fuss was about.”

Oh, come on. How could you look so adorable when confused?

It wasn’t fair. You probably looked like that half the time when Junkrat was talking to you. Fucking moron didn’t seem to realise that no one understood a word he said on a good day. And what did that get him? Your adorable confused face. Jesse frowned at the thought. Fucking giggly bastard, getting things he didn’t deserve.

“What’s wrong.” Crap. You were doing that folded arms thing again. You’d sussed him out.

“Nothing. Just wanted to try something new.” He took another sip. “Mmm. So good.”

You shot him a disbelieving look. “Jesse,” you began.

“Oh, hey mate, fancy seeing you here,” Junkrat nodded to Jesse as he came up to drape draping an arm around your shoulders. Looking back, he giggled and waved to Roadhog, who was mopping up the spilt tea. Then he turned to whisper loudly in your ear. “Hey, could’ya help me make another cup of tea? Ol’ pig face over there’s threatened to hook me if I don’t replace the one he went and spilt all over the table. The mad cunt’s acting as if I had a hand in it. Which I, uh, might’ve done. Maybe. But it weren’t even really my fault, anyway! Ya see, it was all ‘cause of this fucking ripper joke he told me. Yeah. Real dooley, it was. Oh, hey, d’ya wanna hear it? ‘Kay, so it goes… uh… Hey, Roadhog, d’ya remember that joke you told —”

“Well, would you just look at the time,” Jesse said, setting the coffee aside. “Seems I’m late for… target practice.”

Junkrat and you blinked owlishly at him. “Dinnit you just come from practice,” Junkrat asked. Fortunately, Jesse was spared from answering this when his eyes followed the abandoned coffee. “Oh, hey, ya gonna finish that?”

“Nope,” Jesse said, forcing a smile as he shoved it into Junkrat’s prosthetic hand. “Please, by all means. Knock yourself out.”

He escaped into the hall without waiting to see if Junkrat even drank the coffee. Maybe if he could make it to his quarters, he could spend the next few hours cleaning his guns until they shone. Hopefully in doing so he’d forget how you’d smiled at that damn Australian hillbilly. Forget how you used to smile at him like that.

Why was he even bothered about this? You were your own woman. It wasn’t as if you and he had ever agreed to be something exclusive. You could do what or who you wanted. And Jesse? He could do the same. Not that he had even thought about getting with anyone else since he’d met you, but that was beside the —

“Jesse.”

— point. _Shit._

His shoulder’s jumped at the iron in your voice. Putting on his best easy smile, he turned halfway. With one thumb hooked in his pocket, he shot a finger gun at you as he called out your name.

So nonchalant was he.

You just sent him a look.

“You, me. My room,” you said, stomping over and grabbing his elbow. “Now.”

Ah, hellfire and damnation. He hadn’t been in your room yet. At least not in his waking life. He’d certainly seen it, leaning against your doorframe while chatting through the open portal. But he’d never been in it. And here you were, dragging him over the threshold as he’d fantasised many a time. Of course, usually in these fantasies you did not have did not have a fierce glower on your face.

Crossing that threshold was at once both utterly mundane and terrifying. Jesse took a deep breath, looking around as you closed the door.

It smelled like you. Unsurprising, yet somehow calming.

But not calming enough to slow his heart rate when you faced him.

You stared at him, arms crossed. Jesse returned the look with a small smirk that probably looked as nervous as he felt. Finally, you frowned and said, “We need to talk.”

Jesse smiled thinly. “Well, ma’am, seems like we’re doing just that right now. Is there a problem?”

“I don’t know. Do you have a problem with the Junkers?”

“I ain’t got a problem with your friends,” Jesse protested, tilting his head back slightly. “Why would I have a problem with them?”

“Oh, come off it, Jesse.” You crossed your arms again. “You’ve threatened to turn them in on several occasions, and ever since I started hanging out with them you’ve been avoiding me.”

“Okay, first of all, they’re terrorists—” (“Ex-terrorists,” you interjected.) “— who have a history of killing, maiming, and exploding anyone who gets in their way. Jeez, I had enough of that kind of shit to deal with back in the day. And I don’t trust ‘em not to backstab us if someone offers them a better deal.”

“You turned yourself around by working with Overwatch when you were about Junkrat’s age,” you argued. “Why can’t he and Roadhog be given the chance to do the same?”

Jesse opened his mouth, then closed it again. “Alright, fine. You may have a point there,” he said, holding up a finger, his other hand fisted on his hip. “But I’ll still be keeping an eye on them. Loyalty ain’t something that can be bought.”

“Fine. Great. You do that.” You rolled your eyes. “Now tell me why you’ve been avoiding me.”

Shit. “I’ve not been avoiding you.” He hooked his thumbs in his pockets and looked at the pictures on your wall. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

“No I haven’t!”

“Well why is it then that you’re constantly stuck to Junkrat’s side these days?”

You gaped at him for a moment. “Oh my god. Are you jealous?”

Jesse blew out a long breath. With sagged shoulders, he turned to look at you again. “Yes.”

“Of Junkrat.”

“Yes.” Half turning to the door, Jesse stared at it and debated simply walking away. “I mean, I _guess_ I can get what you see in him. You laugh at his jokes, he’s good with his hands if his inventions tell us anythings, he’s got… quite an interesting way of talking, and… uh… you laugh at his jokes…”

A giggle erupted from you as you rested a hand on Jesse’s shoulder. “Jesse, do you really think I’m interested in Junkrat?”

He avoided your eyes. “Does it matter? If he,” he said, pausing to sigh. Then, with a shrug and a soft smile, he continued with “If he makes you happy, then I say go for it. Your happiness is important to me.”

You blinked up at him with a trembling mouth, one hand pressed to your heart.

“Oh, Jesse,” you whispered, moving to place both hands on his shoulders. “Do you like me?”

Jesse’s brow furrowed. “Of course I do. You’re sweet, you’re fun to be around, you’re easy to talk to, I can always count on your help out in the field, and you’re a damn look— er, and you’re a damn lucky friend to have around.”

You smiled and smoothed your hands slowly down his arms, fully able to feel his tension. “You like me,” you said over a small laugh. “Well, guess what, cowboy? I like you too.”

Jesse gaped at you. “Really? But what about —”

“Junkrat?” He nodded at your interruption. “We’re just friends.”

“Just friends, huh?” Rubbing his ear, Jesse let out a short laugh as his shoulders at last relaxed. “Well, I’ll be. I must seem like a goddamn fool, making all that fuss over nothing.”

“No, I’m the fool,” you replied, voice soft as you laced your fingers through his. “I’ve been wanting to tell you that I like you but thought that you would want to make the first move.”

“And I thought you didn’t like me that way,” Jesse murmured as he stepped closer, “ ‘cause you were always hanging around with them Junkers.”

“So we’re both fools,” you whispered back, head tilting towards his. Your eyes dropped to his lips, and his mirrored the movement on your face.

Jesse hummed in agreement. Your name was released on his next breath, followed by “I’d really like to kiss you right now.”

You smiled and brushed your nose against his. “The feeling,” you said, wrapping your free arm around his shoulders, “is mutual.”

It was impossible to tell who moved first. All either of you knew was that you were suddenly softly moving your mouths together. When you broke apart, you were both grinning like loons. Jesse stroked the side of your face with the back of his hand. With his hat tilted back, you could easily see the way his eyes had lit up.

His stomach growled loudly as he moved back in.

“Want to grab breakfast,” you asked after laughing.

“Depends. You wanna join me?”

You checked your watch. “I won’t be able to stay for long, but I’d love to. Hope you don’t mind.”

Opening the door, Jesse led you by the hand back to the cafeteria. “Hey,” he said, bumping his shoulder into yours, “you could spend only a single hour a week with me and I’d still be happy to know that you like me like I like you.”

The next few days flew by. Everyone on base was happy for you two, saying it was about time you two got together. Sure, you still usually ate with the Junkers, but Jesse now would come over and join you guys instead of glaring at you from the corner. Eventually he started shooting the breeze with Junkrat, who still gave you a smile and a thumbs up every time Jesse entered the room before squeezing in against Roadhog’s side to make room. Meanwhile, Roadhog had taken note of the food that Jesse always complained about missing out on (being in the last breakfast cycle) and begun to snag extra plates for him.

For your part, you were elated to see everyone get along after so much ill warranted jealousy.

About a week and a half later you found yourselves once more in your room, lying cuddled atop your bed as you watched one of your favourite films.

Jesse was lying on his back, slightly propped up by pillows with his right arm about your shoulders and his fingers brushing your back every now and again. You sighed contentedly, nuzzling into his shoulder as you curled against him. You could feel his heartbeat in his chest and traced lazy shapes over it.

After a moment, he chuckled and pressed a kiss against your forehead. “You casting a spell of some sort there?”

“Oh yes. It’s a terrible, terrible curse.” You waggled your fingers over his chest, intoning in a dramatic voice, “From henceforth, you shall fail at all rolls.”

He gasped softly. “That’s… that’s evil. And how on earth am I supposed to break this curse, oh Wicked Witch of the Watch?”

“The _watch_?”

“You know. Overwatch,” he replied with a smile.

You scoffed, bumping your head into his shoulder. “Nerd.”

Jesse just laughed. “Takes one to know one.” Then, hugging you close, he turned to growl in your ear, “Oh, and y’ain’t told me how to break your curse yet.” At your false struggles and suppressed giggles, he leaned back to peck you on the nose. “Now, usually witch’s curses are broken by kisses, according to all them tall tales kids watch on tv. So, I’m guessing something similar’s gonna happen here?”

“Oh?” You smiled up at him, raising your brow in challenge. “Why don’t you try it and see? Maybe I’m a nicer witch than you think.”

Your lips met in a quick peck. Batting your eyes, you said, “The curse is going to take more to break than that.”

Jesse smiled and brushed a finger over your jaw as he kissed you again. But this time it was a deep, lingering kiss that seemed to spark all the way down to your toes. A sigh caught in the back of your throat as you brought your arms around his shoulders to stroke the back of his neck. He pulled back with his eyes closed, a shivering breath escaping his lips. When his eyes opened again his gaze was heavy as it traced over your face.

It was impossible to say what happened first - you tilting your chin up to him or him bowing back to you. The kiss grew from first from languid, to insistent, to impassioned as you both began to roam your hands over each other’s arms, backs, heads, and faces. Every pass of his hands, every movement of his lips seemed to multiply together to create a hungry pang of desire that pulsated between your legs. You sighed and interwove your legs with his. Then Jesse was drawing back with a muted hiss as your thigh met the hard bulge of his cock through his jeans.

Gulping, he stroked his thumbs over your cheekbones and asked if you were ready and willing. The word “yes” had just enough time to escape your lips before his mouth was on yours again, this time moving with a hunger that you matched in equal measure. His hands, one firm flesh, the other smooth metal, cupped and squeezed at your ass. Then his fingertips were hooking in the belt loops of your trousers and pulling you up as he pressed his hips into you.

Jesse groaned when you took a handful of his ass in revenge. “Can we take this off,” he asked against your lips as he tugged at the hem of your shirt.

With a fervent nod and another kiss, you sat up and pulled off your shirt as Jesse did the same. Then his arms encircled you once more, pulling your warm chest against his own as his lips trailed over your neck. His jeans disappeared next at your goading, and then you were clad in but a bra with Jesse leaving a trail of small kisses as he pulled your underwear and trousers down your legs.

Hands moving to grab your hips and pull you down flat, Jesse kneeled over you with a dangerous, confident smile. “Is that curse broken yet?”

What? Oh, that _bastard…_

You opened your mouth to return his joke, but all that came out was a ragged moan as he moved his fingers over your heated folds. “How ‘bout now,” he continued over your whining sighs, the jutting length hidden by his boxers the only indication that he was affected by the slick sounds of him massaging your cunt.

“It’s broken,” you gasped, reaching up to try and drag him down to you. “It’s broken, oh god, it’s broken.” His thumb pressed into your clit, causing you to seize up before rocking up into the movement. “Please,” you begged. “Please…”

Jesse hummed, flashing a strained smile as he teased, “Well then, guess I’d better show you just how thankful I am.” And suddenly his hand was moving in even faster, even more delicious circles and swipes and all you could do was claw at the duvet beneath you and thrash beneath his delicious onslaught. He looked down at you with a dimly awed expression, his prosthetic moving to push your bra up over your breasts before pinning you down by your sternum. “Ain’t you a looker,” he breathed, his hips rolling against the air in time with the press of his hand.

The pleasure was coiling between your legs, and you fought against his hold to get closer to the wet slide of his fingers. You groaned loudly when two of his fingers glided into you, twisting and stretching you. Panting, you begged him for something, anything. More of that, more of _him…_

And then your body clenched as you came on his fingers, head thrown back and pressing into the disturbed pillows as your back bowed in pleasure.

Next you knew, Jesse was pulling you up into a hot, wet kiss, one hand sneaking behind you to twist at the clasp of your bra. You moved to help, and as the soft fabric slipped down your arms Jesse shucked off his boxers. Breaking the kiss for a moment, he groaned and dove for his discarded jeans to draw out his wallet. Withdrawing a condom, he tore it open and rolled it on as you watched in a panting heap next to him.

Then he was between your thighs, one hand clutching your hip as the other dragged his dick over your soaked lips. Every press of his head over your clit made you jerk with pleasure and left you clawing at his hips, trying to draw him in.

“Ready,” he asked in a ragged voice as he lined up with your hole.

“Ready,” you replied.

You both moaned loudly as Jesse sank in. His jaw twitched with tension as he rolled against you, fighting to stay collected until he bottomed out. You traced your hand over his flushed face, smiling weakly as he turned to kiss your palm before meeting your mouth in a sweet kiss. You sighed, your arms moving to caress his shoulders. His hands moved to your hips, thumbs stroking over the curves there.

Then he moved. It was a short, shallow roll of the hips, but it had your mouth falling open beneath his. A low growl, full of masculine pride, sounded in the back of Jesse’s throat as he slanted his head to kiss you deeply.

His controlled movements grew first deeper, then faster, and all the while his hands were moving across your body, stroking you and pulling you up to meet his each and every thrust until you were crying with rapture beneath him. Jesse kissed you until your bliss made you twist to the side in a writhing mess, and then he filled the air with guttural grunts, groans, and muttered words of “yes,” “that’s it, hun,” and “so good.”

Pleasure rocked through you again as he clutched you closer, panting and swearing to the Good Lord in your ear. And then you came again, shaking like a leaf around him as he shuddered, lost in his own rapture.

Jesse’s sweaty forehead dropped down against your own with a long groan as you both stilled. His eyes, a beautiful shade of chocolate flecked with grey, slowly blinked open. You giggled as he fixed you with a lazy smile. You curving your head over his jaw, pulling him down into another kiss.

His lips curved into a contented smile against your own, and as he hugged you close you could honestly say you had never felt more loved.


	6. M!Reader x Junkrat; "Be a Good Boy" (NSFW)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A trade fic for Jailbird-Junkrat-Writes on Tumblr. Request - Male Reader is a Junker whom Junkrat is a yandere for. Originally posted on Tumblr on January 11, 2018.

You’d known about Junkrat’s ‘little crush’ on you for a long time. How could you not?

It had started off innocently enough, to the point where at first you and your partner just chalked it up to him being a fan. At first that had been flattering - who goes to the Scrapyard and becomes a fan of someone who altogether spent more time announcing than fighting?

He’d unfailingly turn up after any matches you were involved with, though you noticed he tried to meet you more often after those you announced. At first it was just wanting to meet you in person, compliment you on how a match went or a joke you’d told while announcing. Then it was autographs. It had made you feel like what you imagined a rock star to be.

Then it was shaking your hand — he’d smiled and sworn that he’d never wash his hand again.

You had laughed it off, thinking of teenaged girls in half-remembered television shows from before the explosion. Of how no one but the Queen and regular Scrapyard fighters had enough water to waste it on something so minor as washing.

He had looked like you had given him the keys to the Queen’s vault before grabbing your face, tracing a bitten down fingernail over your frozen smile, and overeagerly saying that he liked how you sounded.

Then it was him cornering you into a conversation you no longer remember and following you home.

Junkrat hadn’t liked when your partner came to the door to greet you. He had laughed, alternating between glaring at your partner and trying to convince you to get a drink with him. You had denied him.

Things had gone very wrong very quickly after that.

Odd gifts would show up in packages covered in smiley faces and your name scrawled in a clunky script. Gifts of tanned goanna skins. Gifts of improvement schematics of your weapon, too detailed and knowledgeable about your custom-build to have been by anyone down at the Yard’s armoury.

Gifts of your favourite foods. Things your partner sought out for you on raids and scavenging trips, in quantities that hinted at what had happened to all the missing teams.

In the furnace that was the Outback you noticed that the permanent smell of sweat and rust became, at first, tinged, and then filled with the scent of burnt hair, sulphur, and smoke wherever you went.

Your apartment was the last place to gain that scent, your clothes soon thereafter.

You had tried to beat up Junkrat to warn him off, but he had just laughed even as you bloodied his nose and asked for another hit. You had your partner try next. They had come back with a concussion, covered in burns and deaf in one ear.

Packages arrived for them next, each covered with the words ‘Rack off, mate’ and each exploding in increasingly violent showers of sparks and smoke. One blew off your partner’s arm, after which you started picking them up and tossing them in the river.

And, like clockwork, Junkrat would be right outside the exit of the Scrapyard. Looking around and sniffing the air like the Rat he was, waiting for you after a match. He’d try to talk to you as he followed you through the streets. If you ignored him would talk at you. Saying things like;

“C’mon, babe, talk ta me. I really like how ya talk. It’s really, really nice, yanno?”

and “Don’t ya think that that table you’ve got’s a bit wonky? It wiggles when ya lean on it, don’t it? Oi, I know - let me come over and fix it for ya! I’m real good with me hands, ya see.”

and “I found something bloody ace in the Omnium recently. An’ it’s worth a pretty penny! _Hahaha!_ Oh, no worries, I’d be willing ta show it to ya, _if_ ya came over to mine for, ah, coffee. _Haha…_ ”

and “Yanno, you should sing sometime during your gigs. ‘Cause, _hah_ , I don’t think your shower appreciates it enough.”

and “You’re always so loud when doing your announcing and shit. And yet hardly a peep in bed. Don’t that fucker you’re with know how ta make a bloke moan right?”

You had been worried to bring it up with the Queen, thinking that the standoffish woman wouldn’t care about your problems. She did care, as it turned out, but not about you.

_Sort out your bloody business with that Rat or get stuffed. Give him a fucking lay, if that’s what he’s after. Cunting root rat that he is… So what if you’ve got a partner? I’m tired of not being able ta fight. Dunno how you fucking stand it._

Your partner had even started entertaining the idea of the two of you leaving Junkertown, of braving the even more lawless Outback outside the walls and the Queen’s jurisdiction. Of heading for one of the costal cities and joining the wowsers out there. Of taking you and going to the other side of the world.

You tried to get them to leave, saying you didn’t want them hurt because of you. But they always just held you as you cried, swearing that they’d never leave you.

Then, in a turn of events that felt like finding shade on a hot day, Junkrat and his new standover man, Roadhog, were exiled for causing one too many fights.

The stiff nod the Queen gave you as the gates slammed shut left you wondering if she actually had cared about your business with Junkrat after all.

And, for a few blissful months, you didn’t have to worry about him anymore. You’d taken more announcement gigs, gotten your partner a new arm from the Yard’s clinic (not like the dead’un had need of it anymore), even started going out to the pub again.

Then a couple of mysterious strangers came to town with an old trolley full of tribute for the Queen.

You had been so taken in by the splendour of the gold and jewels that you never noticed how familiar the gait of the shorter one had. How their hunched form was something you’d seen all too often in your nightmares. How their head had followed you as they passed you in the crowd, how they’d slapped at their companion and pointed at you and your partner.

No one had thought it odd that they had requested that tribute be given with all her fighters present, arguing that this way the Queen would further cement the respect that she ‘so greatly deserved’.

Chaos descended when the costumes were thrown off and the Queen and all the Queen's men became nothing more than bloody smears on the wall.

The crowd dispersed in a mass of screaming, stumbling people as Roadhog bore down on them. You and your partner were buffeted by the stampede, sweating hands torn from each other by the panicked press. Many of those who fled fell beneath the tramp of feet. More fell beneath Roadhog’s hook as he tore through them, occasionally picking some up to examine them quickly before throwing their bloody remains over his shoulder.

You shouted over the panic, searching for your partner. They couldn’t have gone far, right?

A pair of arms wrapped around you, pulling you back against a hard, bony body so covered in soot you could feel the dirt through your thin tank top.

You struggled, kicking and punching wildly as you were lifted into the air in a tight embrace, a sickeningly familiar smell of smoke and burnt things overtaking you. Your attacker giggled, pinning your arms to your sides with a strong, tanned arm as a prosthetic hand forced your face to his.

“Fuck me dead, ain’t you a sight for sore eyes,” Junkrat said as he rubbed his face against yours, leaving trails of sweat, blood, and soot with each pass. “Almost couldn’t wait ta snatch ya.”

You shouted out at the people around you for help as Junkrat dragged you back towards a nearby mechanist’s shop. No one paid any attention, too busy saving their own hides to care about yours.

Your pleas were cut short as Junkrat closed his prosthetic hand over your throat and squeezed.

“No, no, no,” he tittered. “That won’t do - no need for that kinda screaming.”

You gasped and whined, wriggling in his grip. Your vision was growing spotted with black dots as he dragged you towards the workbench, and you were barely able to care about how he was dragging his sharp teeth against your exposed shoulder.

“Now, now, love, don’t fight it —” Junkrat pinned your stomach against the workbench with a deep groan “— I know ya want this as much as I do. Could hear it in your voice, h-hear it in the, oh shit, in the way you always say my name, that little hint of a shiver…”

Bitter tears welled in your eyes - you had never spoken his name with anything other than fear after the packages had started coming in.

Junkrat laughed and began to outline a fantasy where everything you had done had been a secret declaration of love for him. Throughout this, he ground against you in slow, deliberate movements, kicking your legs apart in order to both move closer and avoid your attempts to kick him. You shuddered at the sensation of his quickly growing hard-on pressing against you through both of your trousers.

Pulling away just ended with you even more firmly pressed into the workbench and with more unwanted friction on your crotch. You cringed, ashamed of how your own prick was starting to betray you and grow hard.

“R-rack off, you fucking derro bastard,” you said, at last managing to draw in enough breath around the clutch of his hand to speak. Your hand scrabbled for a nearby wrench, planning to try and bash his head in with it and run.

Your first swing missed, ruffling his hair and sending burning embers onto your own head. You didn’t have time for a second as Junkrat moved quickly out of range, keeping you pinned with the fingers of his left hand digging into the sides of your neck.

His other hand covered yours and beat it against the work surface until your fingers gave way and released the wrench.

“Oh, now why’d ya hafta do that,” he murmured, tossing the wrench away before twisting your hand up to his mouth. You hissed as he brushed his rough, chapped lips and wet tongue over the bruised appendage. “I didn’t want ta hurt ya, yanno. But then ya went and made me.”

“I didn’t make you do anything,” you said between coughs as you dragged in ragged breaths against the cold surface beneath you.

Junkrat snickered, leaning down to lick up tears you hadn’t realised were growing on your lashes.

“No, that isn’t true, and ya know it.” His lips pressed into your eyelids before he moved to bite at your ear with a grunt and a harsher thrust. “Ya made me hafta make this part of the plan, for example. Had ta promise Roadhog a few people he’d had his eye on too…”

The screaming outside was dying down, and you could hear the giant’s heavy footsteps and breathing growing louder in equal measure.

“But I want ya ta enjoy this —” Junkrat’s hand reached around to cup your crotch “— _ooh, hahaha_ and seems ta me that that shouldn’t be too difficult, what with how hard you’re getting.”

You tried to tell him to stop, but his fingers dug deeper into the back of your neck as he growled. “I’ve already told you, don’t need that kinda screaming. Who the fuck are ya trying ta convince that you don’t want this? No one gets this hard if they don’t want it.”

You screwed your eyes shut, trying to avoid moaning as Junkrat’s hand moved up and down your dick. The metal was hard and unforgiving, but the dexterity of the movements was difficult to ignore.

“That’s it.” You shivered at the low tone of praise as Junkrat’s hand slowly slid away from your neck and down your back to squeeze your ass. “Oh, that’s a good boy.”

His left hand slid over your hip and the waistband of your trousers before sneaking down the front. Your hands scrabbled before you again in a futile attempt to pull away as he moved his prosthetic hand to your upper arm and draped his body over you again.

A groan of pleasure was forced from your mouth when his thumb began sliding over your foreskin, moving it up and down as the rough texture of his glove passed over your shaft again and again in short, hard jerks. Junkrat’s giggle was almost inaudible as he bit into your shoulder again.

“Knew you’d like it,” he said as he snapped his hips against you again, harder than before.

Someone was at the door, breathing harshly. No - two someones. There was a soft whimpering as well. Junkrat paused against you and laughed breathily.

When he spoke his voice was rough. “Fuck, mate, did you take a long time finding ‘em. _Haha_ hah… Nah, nah, move ‘em over there.”

Huffing in your ear while licking and nipping at the flesh there, Junkrat manoeuvred you around so that you were on your back, legs splayed wide for him. You stared fearfully up at him for a moment, hating the way his eyes flickered over you and the small smirk he had before he slid his right hand over your throat.

Your brow furrowed, curses and punches going ignored as he let the hand rest there and busied his other hand with tearing open your fly and shoving your trousers and pants down off your legs, nearly twisting your ankles when the fabric caught on your boots.

“Now, see babe, I want ya ta have as much fun as I’ll be having,” Junkrat murmured as he traced a finger over your sensitive tip and dragged the skin down. “Which is why I’ve decided ta get ya a bit of, ah _haha_ , a bit of inspiration.”

With that his hand slid against your jaw, the long metal fingers splayed over your chin and pressing into your lower lip as he forced your head back so that your neck was bent uncomfortably over the edge of the workbench. Your gaze fell to the piles of heaped machinery on the other side of the room, and with them Roadhog and your partner.

There was a split second of calm as you saw that your partner was still alive. It passed quickly.

Roadhog stood behind them, twisting both arms back and up as they knelt before him facing you with the spiked, bloodstained hook curved around their neck. Your eyes widened in shock as you took in the heavily battered form of your partner.

A cut extended from one eyebrow down over a ruined eye and cheek to a deep hole in their cheek. Blood dripped from the underside of their dislocated jaw. Their remaining eye met yours and they attempted a weak smile, only to whimper in pain as tears welled in their eyes.

Your uninjured hand clawed at the hold on your face as the other attempted to push Junkrat off. He hummed deeply as you swiped ineffectually at his torso, likely enjoying how the weakness from the injury made your blind attempts feel more like petting.

“Here’s how it’s gonna go, babe,” he said, forcing you to look at him again as he undid and pushed down his own trousers to reveal a long, uncut, throbbing erection already dripping with precum. You shook on the table, trying to pull away again and only managing to make the thing creak louder.

Junkrat groaned as he grabbed both your erections and pumped up and down a few times. “You’re gonna do exactly as I say, say what I tell ya to, be as loud as I want, ah- _hah_ , s-so that we both enjoy it, or that fucker right there —” His chin jerked towards your partner without breaking your locked gaze “— is gonna get a bit more of what they deserve for keeping us apart.”

Your brow furrowed at him as he leant over you, jaw still held too tightly shut to speak. Your hands clawed long red lines across his shoulders and chest, but he ignored that in favour of forcing your lips to his.

“Soz it had to be this way, babe, but if you’d just come with me when I’d asked, ya wouldn’t be here like this now,” he said, having the audacity to laugh when you spat in his face.

Leaning back with an easy grin he wiped the spittle off with the back of his hand before flicking his eyes up to Roadhog. “Break a finger.”

Your partner yelped in pain, and you soon echoed their renewed harsh breathing as you finally began to see the hopelessness of the situation.

Junkrat giggled, pulling back a bit to spit on your hole and rub the moisture in with the head of his cock. “Now,” he said, panting as he began to press in with a barely held back shout of pleasure. “Are ya going ta be a good boy for me?”

You stuttered, trying to look at your partner as a burning, full sensation began to grow between your legs. Then Junkrat slammed forward, impatience and desire finally getting the better of him as he ripped a loud, low moan from you. He drooled over you, long tongue rolling out as he grabbed your wrists in his right hand and pinned them to your chest.

His other hand sharply pumped your member, making your toes curl in both pleasure and pain as he giggled at the expression on your face.

You didn’t want to think about how this looked to your partner.

“If you’re good enough, ya might even see ‘em get ta walk away after this.”

Junkrat spoke too happily between the giggles and grunts. Too happily for a man jackhammering roughly into someone else. Too happily for someone biting hard enough to leave blood trailing down to the squeaking table.

“C’mon, babe, be a good boy and scream for me.”


End file.
